The Children's Tale
by Dreamboat Kicks
Summary: Set many years after the events of AK'sT, this story is about the rise to jousting fame of the teenage children of all our favorite and not-so-favorite couples. PG-13 for hinted at sex.
1. The Story

**Chapter 1  
  
Author's Note: Jocelyn. In every A Knight's Tale fanfic, generally speaking, we all run into this very annoying women whose creation is a mystery to all. There are those who hate her and those who are indifferent. I do not know of any who like her. As for me, I'm in the indifferent category, because while I don't care for her, I don't care ABOUT her enough to hate her. For simplicity's sake, I have given her the benefit of the doubt in this story and I hope you will forgive me.   
  
** Chaucer leaned back in his chair until he could rest his feet comfortably on his desk and stared at the many pages of worn paper scattered around him. It had taken a long time to write this story. Longer, indeed, than any other previous work had taken him. It had been painful, too. Far more painful than he'd expected it to be, even though he'd known it would be hard to write from the first word. Actually, he wasn't sure, staring at it, that he'd even share it with the others.  
_They have a right to know, _a voice inside him said.  
And I have a right not show it to them, he answered, out loud.   
Bruises and bumps experienced down Memory Lane had proven to be much more painful than they'd been on the Road of Life, not they hadn't been felt the first time around. A fall from glory, he'd learned, could happen to anyone. Even Sir William Thatcher of Cheapside. Each of them, Will, Roland, Wat, Kate, himself, Jocelyn, Christiana, and his wife, Penelope, had had to learn that the hard way.   
_Hard isn't the right word, _the voice spoke up again. _Brutal, agonizing, heart-wrenching, take your pick. But don't belittle the experience by saying that it was merely _HARD.   
Right, right, right. Brutal, agonizing, heart-wrenching, he muttered, now moving his feet off the desk and letting the chair fall back to it's normal position. All the more reason not to show it to them. He began organizing the papers as he spoke. Really, though, I wouldn't be _showing _it to them, I'd be _reading _it to them since Will, Wat, and Roland still don't know how to read, for the most part, and by the time I'd be done with the whole brouhaha, Will would have stormed out of the house, the girls would be in tears, lord only knows how the children would deal with it, especially poor Lance, and Wat would have punched me until I couldn't see. No. I'm not going to read it. I've written it all down, gotten it all out of my system, and now it's going in one of the back drawers where I'll never look at it again.   
_I don't think you've really gotten it out of your system, Chaucer. Take a good look at your hands and ask yourself exactly why they're shaking like a leaf.   
_I've been up for three days straight finishing this, he said, his voice rising to a much higher pitch than usual. And _that's _why they're shaking.  
You want to know something, Geoff?   
Chaucer jumped as Wat's voice floated through the door.   
What, Wat?  
You're a lanky git.  
With a roll of his eyes, he asked And what, pray tell, is the other news from the far land of just-beyond-the-door?  
The door banged open, and Wat stood there, eyes glinting with characteristic anger, and cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen.   
You're holding dinner, that's the news.  
What do you mean I'm holding dinner. I explicitly said that I eat so much food around here that I could go without for a week and not be hungry, so don't feed me for awhile, and it's been-  
Three days. And Kate's worried about you. You haven't been talking much for the last few months and you've been camping out in your room _without _Penelope. The least you could do for us is bloody have a mea- he stopped suddenly, catching sight of the paper gathered in Chaucer's arms. His gaze snapped quickly around the room to the desk, the floor, the bed all littered with scribbled paper. Wat looked at up at Geoff again, a deadly calm about.  
he said, backing several paces and clutching the paper to him.  
Wat said.   
Wat, I'm warning you-  
Have been _working _on something.   
Wat, it's not _done. _i don't want to show it you. You. Don't. Realize. What. This. _Is. _  
Wat clearly did not think he was serious. Just as he always did whenever he caught Chaucer with a manuscript, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him, protesting all the way, through the door and into the dining room.   
Hello, world, Wat announced with his usual introduction. Geoff had discovered some years ago that Wat had a natural talent for all things theatrical. Much to chagrin, he had taught _and_ encouraged him. I have the privilege of informing you- a small sea of expectant faces were now gazing at him. that our friend Geoffrey has something he would like to show us all. Several coughs greeted this announcement. It was obvious to all those witnessing that, far from wanting to show them something, Geoff often wanted desperately to be back in his bedroom, revising.   
Well now that he's dragged you out, let's hear it, Master Nude, Roland called cheerfully, having never quite let go of the awful nickname.   
Oh, Roland. He was only ever nude in your presence three times, and mostly by accident.  
Believe me I know, my dear Penelope, but some habits are beyond giving up.  
Kate called, bringing in the dinner and setting roasted pig on the table. Lets hear the story.  
Will's daughter, Phoebe, said while setting down some rolls. Lets have it around dinner. She and Kate sat down.   
Lance spoke up, running a hand through his bright red hair. My curiosity is piqued.  
I'm-I'm really not sure- he didn't know what to say. This couldn't be happening. Why'd he even write the stupid thing? They'd all tried to forget the last few years and now he'd bring it back in full force. He'd left nothing out. They'd hate him.  
The final votes are in, Christiana spoke up. We all want to hear it. Sit down and read the thing.   
He obeyed, but only to hide the fact that his legs were starting to shake.   
he began, and then sipped some water to ease the dryness of his throat and mouth. Are you all _really_ sure-  
came the simultaneous answer.   
All right. Fine. But I warn you that this is _not _going to be pretty. I am completely sorry to inform you all that this very woeful and absolutely true story is called- he took a deep breath. The Children's Tale. 


	2. The Name

**Chapter 2 **  
Twenty years earlier. . .  
  
The log home in the country woods was completely unremarkable except for its size which was quite exceptional for that time and place. Instead of one room, it had several, including a separate kitchen, dining room, and several bedrooms. Indeed, so exceptional was this home that peasants who passed by on the road often whispered to themselves that it was a castle, for they had never seen the real thing. The more enlightened beings living inside had decided that it was definitely no castle but was, without argument, a very large house.   
They needed the space. Four couples lived there, under the roof of that much-discussed house. Though they did not know it, they were not left out of the awed conversations that filled the night in more traditional peasant homes. These people were an odd case. Peasants who were not peasants living in a castle that they insisted was not a castle.   
These people were Sir William Thatcher, simple thatcher's son tuned winner of the world jousting championship and favorite of Prince Edward, his wife the nobly-born Lady Jocelyn, her maid, Christiana, William's old squires Roland and Wat, the girl blacksmith Kate, faithful wife Penelope, and the writer Geoffrey Chaucer whose Canterbury Tales had brought him fame throughout Europe and, so it seemed, would probably continue to do so long after his time on Earth had been spent. With people like these around, no gossiper could be content with a house alone. And at the moment in time that we begin this story, these remarkable people, with a remarkable record, living in a remarkable home were all staring at what was soon to become the newest star on the rumor mill.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Wat looked up from the baby in his wife's arms and glared at Chaucer.   
he said. Have got to be kidding. You simply cannot believe that someday I will wander about yelling Lancelooooooot! Oh La-ance! Lanceloooooo-   
All right, all right. Point taken, Chaucer said, sounding a bit miffed. But I still say that Lancelot is a good knightly name.  
Wat answered imperiously, Was never a knight. I was a squire. And I never want to have to imagine one of the old Cooks looking up from hell and saying that I could never lean anything, not even my place in the world. I'm happy with where I am and I'm never having my son putting on armor, beating nobles, or even having a knightly name. He gave a side glance at William. No offense, Will.  
None taken, Will said amiably. Even though I will always think you've got a wrong view of the world.  
Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She'd decided to let Wat name their son. Mostly in memory of her other husband, Marc. With a brief pang, she wondered if he could see them all here, and, if he could, what he thought.   
He'd asked to name their first-born and she had agreed, although she remembered her frustration when no amount of begging would get him to at least hint at the names he had picked out. And then he'd died. Of that awful fever. Before she'd even gotten pregnant. Before one small year had passed.   
With a shake of her head, Kate pulled herself back to the present. Marc had valued two things, hope and happiness, above all else. He would want more than anything for her to be happy. Besides, she had Wat now. And their son.  
Well, let's start simple, practical Roland offered. How about Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John?   
Matthew. Mark Luke. John. Mark, Mark, Mark. Mark. he pursed his lips and stared thoughtfully at the boy in Kate's arms. Her heart skipped a beat. Was their child really going to be named Mark? Could she handle it? Was she ready for that?  
_Kate, my dear tomgirl?  
  
Can I ask you a favor?  
Of course, my lord.  
I thought I'd told you that I didn't want you to call me lord.'   
Oh, I know. And I don't like calling you lord' but Mother was always a stickler for what's proper-  
Oh, bully what's proper. We're partners now. And if it's all the same to you, I think it'd be much more interesting if we were equal.  
Kate grinned and moved even closer to him under the covers.   
Well, then, _MARC. _Ask any favor you want, within reason. I'll tell you now that I'm not really interested in jumping off any cliffs.  
Marc laughed. Don't worry. I love you too much to ask you to do anything that stupid. I was wondering, actually, if you'd let me name_ _our_ _first born.  
Kate considered.   
Do you have names picked out?  
  
Well-all right, then. I'll trust your judgment. My husband will name my-our-first child.  
Now it was Marc's turn to smile.  
A thousand thanks, girl. I've got both a boy's name and a girl's name picked out. I'll be thrilled no matter what the sex, but I kind of hope it's a girl. I've got the best girl name in the world already chosen.  
Kate giggled.   
I'll try to bring you a girl, then.  
They both laughed at the odd statement.And then began to kiss.   
_No, I don't' think he's a Mark after all. Or a Matthew, Luke, or John. I'll need some other ideas.   
Kate jerked backed to the present and shook her head. She couldn't let the whole evening go on like this, always slipping back to Marc. Even though Wat was her second, her experience in conceiving this child, whatever his name turned out to be, had been no less passionate than her first with Marc. She needed to think about here and now.   
How about Peter? Christiana suggested. He knew his place in the world even though he questioned it for awhile.  
No, he's no Peter.   
As much as she hated to admit it, Kate was starting to get impatient. The process was taking so long. Why couldn't Wat just think of something he was happy with, even though he hadn't had one already picked out.   
_Because, _the logical part of her brain said, _he's not Marc. _  
She tapped her left foot against a table leg out of annoyance, mostly directed at herself.  
Chaucer suggested brightly. As in Julius Ceaser.   
Another noble name, Wat growled. I don't want to hear another noble or knightly name come out of your mouth, Geoff.  
Sensing the danger signals, Kate spoke up.   
He was just suggesting, Wat. No ones going to chose for you.  
I know, I know, I know, he muttered, waving his adorable, lanky arms. I just can't make up my mind, Kate.  
_Antony, _she thought. But she knew better than to suggest it.   
Um. . . Andrew!  
Good idea, but it doesn't suit him. Wat started to fidget.   
Jocelyn cried.   
Kate glanced up at her startled. They had forgotten that they were in the room with a noble who was, truth be told, still noble at heart even though she had agreed to marry a then-titleless William and renounced her castle home for this house in the country.   
I know it's noble, Wat, but it's common, too. The peasant who was admiring the house the other day, he was named Edward.  
No good, Wat said, looking glum.  
Chaucer murmured, more or less to himself.   
I know! Penelope exclaimed. How about Adam?  
No, no, _no! _He doesn't look like a Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Adam, or Edward. I need to decide on something. The next name somebody suggests is what he is, no matter what.   
Kate pulled herself together. Something told her she was not going to like what was chosen.   
_My husband will name my-our-first child.  
_Chaucer looked up gleefully.   
_Keep yourself calm, Kate. It can't be too awful.  
_ William glanced at Geoff and raised his eyebrows.  
_Oh, no. What in the world have I done?_  
Roland studied Wat, a thoughtful expression on face.   
Wat asked, sounding desperate.  
the three of them said together.   
Wat leaned over and studied the baby in her lap. Kate felt like crying, but clenched her teeth and didn't say anything. She'd made a promise to her first husband who, by teaching her the blacksmith trade, had gotten her where she was today. It was meant to be.   
You know, Wat said, lighting up. I think he looks a bit like a Lancelot.  


  



End file.
